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#soup gut art
soup-guts · 6 months
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☕️ his eyes are open but he’s not conscious ☕️
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angeliteonfridgeduty · 5 months
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recently i have gained a slight obsession with drawing worker drones as toasters
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yes
yes it's that bad
i have one more. two more in fact but i handed one over to a friend before i took photographic evidence of the fact that it exists so uhh. yeah
yes it in fact did originate from that one J quote
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shockvalt · 9 months
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theblackestofsuns · 8 months
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"Guts And Tolerance"
Heartbreak Soup (2007)
Gilbert Hernandez
Fantagraphics Books
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a very determined climate activist doing the soupcan thing to my favorite painting of all time: what is worth more, art or life?!
a man in the background, no hesitation: Art.
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polkasoup · 1 year
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Hung out to dry
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crackedskully · 7 months
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Don't Touch My Kid.
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Connor doesn't look pleased it seems lmao.
Connor (He/They) Darling (It/Its)
(For better quality tap on the images)
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breadbrobin · 2 months
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friendship bracelets
leo valdez x reader — heroes of olympus
[gn!child of demeter reader]
summary: friendship bracelets are a love language in themselves. it’s a shame leo can’t wear the ones you make him.
warnings: little bit of swearing, possibly ooc leo, fluff, food and eating, leo forgets to eat sometimes.
word count: 1.2k
(so i wrote a leo fic too uhhhh. anyway. i love him and i have always loved him and i will always love him, so here’s a lil gift from me to you and uhhh yeah enjoy!)
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you’d given leo two bracelets. one was at the wilderness school. it was flimsy and made of red and yellow beads, held together by an elastic tie you’d smuggled into the school. the second was after your first quest. you’d managed to get some leather straps and made a braided leather bracelet for him.
he thought you’d made them for your other friends too, but he soon found out that he was the only one to get a matching leather bracelet with you.
“i don’t have enough for everyone,” was your excuse as you hid your rolls of leather threads and straps under your pillow. “i wish i could.”
that was good enough for him.
he soon realised, though, that he couldn’t wear them.
the risk of them burning was far too high, and after he nearly melted the beaded one when he got too excited one day, he decided to stop wearing them.
they held pride of place on his bedside table though. they were right beside his three-day-old water glass and the shrivelled pot plant you’d given him that you swore he’d be able to keep alive.
“it’s a cactus, leo! you can’t kill a cactus.”
he killed the cactus. or, at least, he mostly killed the cactus. you’d even named it jeremiah in the hopes that it would make him remember to water it, but he’d known a jeremiah once and hated his guts, so it hadn’t really helped much.
so leo valdez was a plant-killing, bracelet ignoring bastard. what was new?
oh, nothing. just the fact that he was madly in love with you.
maybe it was the bracelets, or your insistence that he would be able to keep a little cactus alive, or your uncontrollable laughter as he showed you the wilted plant, or maybe even the way you used your influence over plants to heal the little cactus and bring it back to life.
whatever it was, he was totally screwed. so screwed, in fact, that he took to staring at the two bracelets on his table every night before going to sleep, wishing he could wear them to see the look on your face.
leo worked hard. he always did. once he got into something, he didn’t stop until it was finished. sometimes, that meant ignoring his body’s need for food and water.
you marched into bunker 9 with a bag in hand. “leo valdez!”
he looked up from his workbench. “what did i do? whatever it was, it wasn’t me. i swear.”
“yeah, you didn’t do anything. like eat! i didn’t see you at breakfast or lunch!” you sat on his workbench beside him and placed the bag down in front of his busy hands. “it’s three o’clock now, so i bought you food.”
“i really have to—“
“eat? yes, you do.”
“no, but—“
“and drink water? that too. there’s a water bottle in there.”
“y/n—“
“leo, if you don’t eat your food i’ll break your hands so you can’t work anymore and then i’ll spoon feed you chicken soup every day until your hands are better.”
he looked up at you, offended. “i hate chicken soup.”
you smiled and leaned forward. “i know. so eat your fucking food.”
he raised his hands in defeat. “okay, fine.” he set his tools down and opened the bag with a teasing roll of his eyes. “if it pleases you so.���
“it does, indeed.”
as he ate, you walked around the bunker as you did every time, your hands behind your back like you were at an art gallery. to you, it was a gallery. bunker 9 was like the inside of leo’s mind: chaotic, messy, always moving and changing, and covered in memories of you. there were polaroid pictures that you’d given him pinned to a cork board. the whiteboard beside it read: ‘meet y/n for campfire’. there was even a note you’d scrawled to him in Ancient Greek a few weeks ago: ‘don’t forget to eat, dumbass.’ Apparently, he hadn’t listened to that one.
you walked back over just as he finished his food. he made to hand the back bag to you, but you stopped him. “you didn’t get everything.”
he frowned and opened the bag again, looking inside. “what are you— oh!”
he reached in and pulled out a leather bracelet. it was similar to the one you’d made him before, but tidier. you’d clearly gotten better at making them. “it’s beautiful, but, y/n, you know i can’t—“
“you can’t wear them because you’ll burn them. i know. put it on.” you smiled knowingly.
he put it on warily. it was nice, and his heart fluttered a little at the gesture, but he still couldn’t wear it out of fear.
“now burn it.”
his eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. “what?”
“burn it.”
“i’m not gonna—“
“do you trust me?”
“sometimes, like when you tell me to burn your hard work, i don’t, no.”
you stepped forward and tightened the bracelet on his wrist. “leo. burn it. or i will.”
he frowned up at you. “you’re very scary today.”
“thank you,” you smiled, stepping back. “just trust me.”
he sighed and shook his head, but lit his hand and lower arm on fire, watching forlornly as the bracelet melted to nothing—hold on. he extinguished the fire. the bracelet was still there. “how did you—?”
“talked to lou ellen. there’s a spell on that one. i had to get her to do it as i made it, but it won’t burn. it’s magic.” you smiled proudly, rocking back and forth on your heels.
he looked at you in shock and stood up. “you made a fire resistant bracelet for me?”
you shrugged. “of course, i did. and look!” you extended your wrist to him, showing a matching one. “i made a better one for me too!”
he looked from your wrist to your face with his signature impish grin. “thought you didn’t have enough to make anymore.”
you shrugged. “maybe i underestimated myself.”
“maybe you did.”
for a moment, you just smiled at each other, and he thought he could have kissed you right there and maybe (just maybe) from the look on your face you wouldn’t push him away, but then you slipped your hand into his and pulled him to another work bench. his hand was still warm, as always. “now, tell me what this is, because i have no idea.”
so, as he explained how one of his many projects worked and you hung onto his every word and held his hand tightly, he couldn’t help but feel a little warmer than usual.
and maybe, when you left that afternoon, leaving him to continue his work, pressing a kiss to his cheek like you always did, he could summon the courage to pull you back in for a kiss on your lips, like he’d always wanted. and maybe your friendship bracelets would turn into something more.
but, even if they didn’t, he knew he’d fall asleep that night without staring at his bedside table. he’d stare at his wrist instead. and he’d never take that bracelet off. ever. not even if the gods themselves required him to.
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salemoleander · 9 months
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Limited Life Webweave // sources under readmore
What is a webweave? Previous art: Third Life | Void Falling | Attempt 33 | Martyn
Pt. 1: Non-threatening feminist boy / @teanne ◆ Excerpt from Why We Tell Stories / Lisel Mueller via @fourteen-lines ◆ Emerald clock ◆ Digging Your Own Grave / @thatsbelievable ◆ a place i will go to this summer / @eliasericson ◆ Sand timer ◆ All have the same 24 hours tweet ◆ Invent my own family / @mountainqoats ◆ Shield #3 Brooch / Sergey Jivetin ◆ Osgood / @candiedspit ◆ Untitled (posted 2.18.23) / @petersolarz
Pt. 2: As I Walked Out One Evening / W. H. Auden ◆ I Know Not, I Know Not / Takashi Murakami via @zegalba ◆ Wouldn't It Be Nice article title / Ben Mathis-Lilley via @tikkunolamorgtfo ◆ Should You Remind Them About It? / @thatsbelievable ◆ In case of happy ending / cécile via @visual-poetry ◆ Fallout New Vegas alert ◆ [walking into a surprise party] tweet / @JUNlPER ◆ Seasonal bows / @eyanin ◆ Aerial attack / @catcrumb ◆ Vibe Check poll / @borgevino ◆ i can kill ppl textpost / @sharkyz ◆ Matchbox / @trxnspxrxnts ◆ Drawing, Stag and Hounds / William Hunt Diederich ◆ I had a dream comic / @deep-dark-fears ◆ Untitled (posted 2.4.23) / @petersolarz
Pt. 3: But the creature that wants to kill you / @keydekyie ◆ spill blood repetition texpost / @duckdotcom ◆ Everybody Dies soup / @snailspng ◆ Every Teenagers #1 / @everyteenager4free (deactivated) ◆ Statue Grave of Jane Margyl / @horrorlesbians ◆ Broken Hourglass ◆ Beautiful Island / Zachary Schomburg via @exitwound ◆ mr. cat is finally out of jail comic / @alisonzai ◆ Excerpt from End-times at an Italian restaurant / @ryebreadgf ◆ Church Birdcage ◆ Can't trust anybody Caution Sign / @secondimpact ◆ (covered in blood) textpost / @darthsenatorpalpatinecreampie ◆ Excerpt from Broken Hierarchies: Poems 1952-2012 / Geoffrey Hill via @heteroglossia ◆ A Softer World #264 comic / e horne + j corneau ◆ Pocketwatch ◆ Gut Feeling / @anatolknotek ◆ blue eyes art / @escuerzoresucitado ◆ Untitled (posted 2.8.23) / @petersolarz
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badoobers · 1 year
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Catching Up
Art by Badoobers
Words Also by Badoobers
Commission for @ewdonottouchme
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Standing in line for his morning coffee, Dan couldn't help but notice a familiar face, sitting alone and surrounded by several empty coffee cups. From the neck up, Ethan hadn’t changed one bit from college, but his slender and attractive face couldn’t distract Dan from the shockingly large gut his old roommate now proudly displayed. Ethan’s underbelly peeked out from underneath a too small and too tight t-shirt. Dan felt a mixture of emotions at that moment in the café but the most prominent one was arousal. Dan had always been attracted to Ethan but seeing him like this, his large pecs, which were once thrust proudly above his six-pack abs, now rested on the soft slope of his belly which in turn overflowed onto his lap, nearly obscuring his crotch entirely was driving Dan wild. Dan's desire for coffee was immediately overwritten by his need to get a closer look at his old friend and hide his growing erection underneath a table.
As he shuffled his way over to the table, Ethan glanced up from his cup and his face lit up with surprise. They greeted each other as old friends do and Dan sat down, eager to find out what had led to Ethan's sudden... expansion. Dan tried to be tactful but instead blurted out "Holy shit bro, you blew up!" Ethan grinned sheepishly, his face flushing red. He reached to rub his neck, inadvertently lifting his shirt and exposing even more of his belly. Dan crossed his legs for no particular reason, his face flushing red as well, also for no particular reason. "Well you see," Ethan began. "I've got this roommate. He’s an extremely good cook and he has no idea what reasonable portion sizes are! He makes more food than either of us can ever eat and I don’t like to waste food so I uh… well you get the picture,” he laughed. Dan was speechless. How often was Ethan gorging himself to get to this size?? “Yeah, I dare you to come over for dinner sometime,” Ethan said. “You’ll leave thirty pounds heavier at least.” As those words left Ethan’s lips, Dan’s fate was sealed. He was going to dinner.
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Ethan’s roommate Marco was BIG but not in the same way Ethan was. Dan was by no means a small guy. He frequented the gym and had impressive pecs, legs, arms, etc. He was the whole package. And yet Marco towered over him in the doorway, his broad shoulders contrasted by his slim waist which was in turn contrasted by his monstrously muscled thighs and calves. Dan was awestruck. He shook Marco's hand and immediately felt self-conscious. Marco led him through the entryway where Dan slid out of his flip-flops, tossing them crookedly beside Ethan’s scruffy sneakers and Marco’s enormous leather boots which were polished to a shine. As he followed Marco down the hall, Dan couldn’t help but notice the way Marco’s jeans may as well have been vacuum sealed for how skintight they were. His ass was amazing. Equally amazing was the savory smell that greeted him as he entered the dining room. He could see an enormous pot on the stove, its contents bubbling. His stomach growled. Marco apologized and informed Dan that they would be eating at the kitchen’s breakfast bar since their dining room table had collapsed earlier in the week from the weight of all the food he’d made for Ethan’s birthday. Hearing this, Dan took his seat and crossed his legs. 
Finally, Ethan appeared, holding a bottle of wine and 3 glasses. Dan watched in anticipation as Ethan poured the three of them tall glasses of wine and Marco set out two large ceramic bowls and filled them to the rim with a thick, creamy broccoli and potato soup which he finished with a heavy sprinkle of cheddar cheese and bacon bits. “Aren’t you eating too,” Dan asked, confused. “I had some earlier,” Marco said with a dismissive wave of his giant hand. Satisfied, Dan began to eat.
The moment the spoon passed his lips it was bliss. The soup was rich and savory, the potatoes melted on his tongue and the broccoli allowed him to pretend this was at least somewhat healthy. In the blink of an eye, his spoon was scraping the bottom of the bowl and he felt somehow hungrier than before. Before he could say anything, Marco swooped in and whisked away his empty bowl, setting it back down refilled with soup. Without hesitation, Marco began to eat again. A few bowls later there was a ding. Marco, equipped with oven mitts, opened the oven and the room filled with steam and the smell of freshly baked bread. In his hands, Marco now held the most incredible baguette. Everyone took a deep inhale and sighed. This was heaven. As he waited for Marco to dish out pieces of bread, he glanced over at Ethan. He flushed bright red. Ethan had his head tilted back, the bowl raised to his lips, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he chugged the soup. No wonder he’s gotten so fat, Dan thought. Ethan had transformed into a complete glutton! Dan watched as Ethan’s belly expanded with each gulp. He crossed his legs harder. 
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Dan spent the rest of the meal, glancing at Ethan as he consumed more and more of the soup, the gentle slope of his belly turning into a solid curve. He was so busy admiring his friend that he didn’t even realize how much soup he was packing away himself. His already snug tank top had grown even tighter around his middle and his six-pack had completely vanished. While he waited for Marco to fill his bowl again, he took a sip of his glass of wine and heard something tear. Glancing down he realized his tank top had split ever so slightly at the seam. This turned him on immensely. When Marco returned his once again filled bowl, Dan ignored his spoon completely and lifted the bowl to his lips… 
It was truly an amazing feeling, the warm, thick soup pouring down his throat and filling his already full stomach. He was beginning to feel it now, that tension, the tightness of his clothes and the tightness of his skin, stretching to accommodate the constantly expanding amount of food as he continued to gorge himself. He heard another tear and it only motivated him further. As long as Marco kept bringing him soup and bread and wine, he’d continue to eat, and eat, and eat. 
But finally, as much as he wanted to continue, he was completely and utterly full. He leaned back in his chair and let out a polite burp and rubbed his engorged belly. It felt so good. Ethan was even more impressive. He had transformed from a fattened ex-jock to a complete blimp, his belly filling his lap, groaning and gurgling. His skin was taut and red, angry at the amount of food he’d forced into it. Dan couldn’t find the energy to hide his arousal, his erection was enormous, and so too, he noticed, was Ethans. Ethan moaned, stroking his cartoonishly swollen gut. He felt ready to burst and was pleased to see Dan was in a similar state. Leaning forward he pressed his hand against Dan’s belly and whispered, “Feels good, doesn’t it… fatty. Dan was so full all he could do was nod. He opened his mouth and let out an enormous belch. The relief he felt was tremendous. He opened his mouth again, this time to speak. But before he could manage to say anything, Marco hollered, “Who’s ready for dessert!”
Dan’s eyes widened. There was no way he could eat anything else, he’d explode! But the moment Marco pulled that pie out of the oven, his fate was sealed.
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They ate dessert in a daze, forcing down slice after slice of berry pie smothered in melting globs of vanilla ice cream into their already maxed-out stomachs. Marco seemed to be completely oblivious to his friends' sexually charged struggle, chipperly bringing each of them a seemingly endless supply of food. He did join them in enjoying a large slice of pie but everything else was for Ethan and Dan.
Ethan began to feel queasy but felt Dan’s hand on his much too full gut. “Not giving up yet are you,” he said between burps. Ethan shook his head, resolute. They would finish this together. Adjusting their seats, they sat each with an encouraging hand on the other's belly and dove right back in. They could feel each other's bellies grow more and more as they ate, their warm skin growing tighter and overstretched. Dan felt a cheeky grab of his dick which he would have reciprocated if he could have reached Ethan’s own dick which had been buried under his fat quite some time ago during the meal. 
Finally, it was over. The two sat there sweating, leant back, unable to find any relief from their overindulgence. Hearing Ethan’s chair creaking, Dan suggested they move to the couch, a feat which was easier said than done. With great effort, Dan got himself on his feet, letting out a tremendous fart. Ethan began to laugh but he was cut off by an enormous belch. They really were a perfect pair. Dan helped Ethan out of his chair and supporting one another, they waddled to the living room. Ethan peeled off his straining and torn t-shirt and immediately collapsed onto the couch, sprawling his limbs and groaning. Dan followed suit, pulling off his tank top. With no room on the couch, Dan slumped onto the floor and began to rub his swollen middle in a useless attempt to soothe it. 
“So… full..” Ethan whined. “Rub my belly for me… please…” How could Dan deny such an earnest plea? Ethan pulled in his legs and Dan hoisted himself onto the couch where he began to rub Ethan’s gut. It really was impressive just how enormous he was. He was fat beforehand, sure, but now he was a behemoth. Feeling both Dan's hands soothing him, Ethan could only moan softly.
“Hey guys,” Marco said from the kitchen. “Sorry about dinner, I’d have made more food if I’d realized the both of you would have such hearty appetites! I’ll be sure to make more next time! Anyways, it’s gonna take a while to wash all these dishes, so you two can go ahead and watch a movie or something, ok?”
Hearing this, Dan figured they’d be left alone for a while and pressed his dick into Ethan’s firm underbelly, his hands sliding down onto Ethan’s chest. He squeezed his meaty pecs and whispered, “I’ve always wanted to do that.” 
Ethan grabbed Dan’s waist and pulled him right on top of him, their round bellies squished together. The sudden pressure caused both of them to burp loudly right in each other’s faces. Then they leaned in for a kiss… but unfortunately, they couldn’t reach. “Why don’t we take this to my room,” Ethan said with a sly grin. “We can do a lot more in there.” Dan turned bright and nodded rapidly. He slid off of Ethan and helped him to his feet and they waddled down the hall to Ethan’s bedroom. 
Finally, alone they could stop undressing each other with their eyes and undress each other for real. It was an incredible relief to slip out of their tight and torn clothes, all of their girths now out in the open, on full display for themselves. It was an amazing feeling. They clasped hands and fell onto the bed, the metal frame creaking in protest. Dan passionately kissed Ethan’s belly, moving further and further south each time until he reached… Ethan moaned loudly. 
Marco hummed cheerfully to himself to the rhythm of Ethan’s creaking bed. With the dishes all done he could start preparing for tomorrow's breakfast. From what he could hear, Dan would be staying the night. Suddenly there was a loud crash. It would seem Dan and Ethan were a bit too much for that old bed frame. Marco knocked his large fist on the door. “I suggest you two use my bed for now,” he said. “The frame is much sturdier. Anyways, I’m going back to the kitchen now so do what you need to do.” 
Marco resumed his breakfast preparations and Dan and Ethan resumed whatever it was they were doing on a much sturdier surface. 
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m1d-45 · 8 months
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the scars, the wound
summary: heizou has two important skills: his intuition and his martial arts. he prefers not to use the latter when working on cases, but what happens when the first fails him?
word count: ~2k
-> warnings: mention/implication of violence near the end.. minor spoilers for heizou lore?
-> gn reader (you/yours)
-> if this looks familiar, it’s a rewrite of this. i didn’t think i posted that draft because it was in need of so much improvement when i recently re-found it, and didn’t realize until after already posting this… whoops.
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr
< masterlist >
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heizou’s intuition is wrong, for once. it’s impossibly unlikely, something he can’t remember happening before, but it’s the only logical explanation.
he’s walking through ritou, taking a minor detour along the beach. why, he’s not certain, but some string in his stomach insisted he went. and so, following his intuition, he did.
at first, it’s sand. as all beaches are. he finds himself scanning the shore for anything strange, kicking at a few odd looking rocks. he even checks a few times with elemental sight, but all he gets are the faint wisps of hydro lingering on the sand. not that that meant much—his elemental affinity was never the highest, kazuha was far more reliable for this sort of thing—but normally he could at least gather a general idea of what his mind was trying to tell him… but not this time.
no, when he saw you sitting in the sand, it was the last thing he could have expected.
he stops, squinting a bit. the sky is darkening, approaching dusk, and he was meant to be going to a meeting with thoma. to bother a random civilian and make himself late wasn’t ideal, but to scare you off if you were a criminal could possibly be worse. so, he approaches quietly, noting the way you turned as he did.
and then he recognizes you, all at once. your face was reflected in the posters plastered all over the city, in word-of-mouth descriptions from other officers—you’re the one the whole world’s been looking for. your skin is dirty and your clothes could certainly use a few hours with a needle and thread, and paper doesn’t quite capture the blank look in your eyes as well.
still, he crouches down with a wave, crossing his arms on his knees. “hey there! detective heizou of the tenry-“
“i know you.”
your voice sends a chill down his spine. it pulls at something deep in his core, his soul screaming that you are friend, not foe. briefly, he wonders why he stopped here at all, and then shock hits him like a punch to the gut.
for the first time in a long time, his instincts were wrong.
wrong, because you’re a fugitive.
his smile turns strained, unable to shake the feeling that he’s doing something wrong despite knowing he’s within full legal right. his skin prickles, and he digs his nails into his arm guards to keep steady. “do you? gotta say, i can’t blame you. my name is flung around quite a lot.”
you’re tense but not running. you know him, you know who he is, so…
blank eyes peer at him from under the overgrown shags of your hair, half-lidded and tired. his mind constructs a metaphor without his asking, as if attempting to make sense of something far more complex than you; jewelry, rusted and ancient, luster long lost across the years.
he almost feels sympathetic, but he’s not sure why. he should hate you. you fly in the face of everything he stood for—truth, justice, his creator—but he can’t find the will to do anything to arrest you. he knows he could apprehend you in an instant, between his skill and your exhaustion, but he doesn’t. and he doesn’t know why.
it bothers him.
“so, what’re you doing on ritou? need any help getting a permit to the rest of the island?”
he tells himself he’s asking because doing that would force your hand, not because he wants to help. that’s ridiculous. when did he start thinking this way? has he caught a cold, by chance?
“no.”
“then surely there’s a more comfortable place to be than the beach?” what’s he doing? why does he care? who cared if sand plastered your skin, if you got sick from being outside? “tides get pretty high around here, it would do you good to find a place to rest.”
you look out to the sea, some of the tension leaving your body. it’s not relaxation, more like surrender. “i don’t have anywhere to go.”
his chest is beginning to feel oddly tight.
it’s like he’s seeing the stars themselves in your eyes despite the darkness and the fact that that’s not possible. there’s a small shimmer to them, the sun itself contained inside, a glow that shows when they flicker over him like you’re pulling out all of his secrets. he’s not sure why he wants to give them to you. “i’m sure you know that, though.”
he does, he knows, he was at the meeting with kujou sara and the rest of the police force. he was the one she pulled aside to personally ask he put his full attention on it—as if he hadn’t already the second she mentioned his god—and he’s heard of the stories from the mainland. he knows everything, he’s read over every single report he could get imported, and yet every word you say feels brand new. when you say ‘you’ it feels like you’re the first person to ever lay on him, and it’s scary that he doesn’t find that frightening. his mouth is dry, all of his normal quick retorts and easy replies falling out of his reach. he settles for a nod, and you look back to the sea.
you look dull, his mind says, pulling on all of his vocabulary to try and connect a sentence together that properly describes it. your entire form feels… fleeting? no, not that. impermanent, maybe, like fog. so dense from afar, yet vanishing once he gets close. you’re… everywhere, a mist lingering in the air, waiting for him to look away so you can take a solid form again.
are you a youkai looking for a bit of fun? perhaps he’s mistaken. maybe he’d guessed wrong, maybe you’d just stolen another’s face for a prank.
…that’s stupid. since when has that been one of his first explanations for something? no, something’s wrong- he has to get this- this spell off of him. now he remembers, the paper from the alchemist from mondstat, he remembers, he remembers-
he-
he remembers the soft smile on his father’s face, wiping the dirt from his knees. “you must be careful,” he says, careful not to irritate the scrapes with the cloth. “you have been blessed with this mind of yours, but you must be wise enough to use it properly.”
“i’m wise!” he insists, and his father laughs, reaching for the bandages at his side.
“you’re intuitive,” he corrects. “and every day i pray to our god that you to learn the difference.”
heizou tears his eyes away from you, pretending that the sand isn’t blurry.
you’re a fraud. he has to arrest you. you’re tricking the people, you’re impersonating the highest deity, the literal god of gods, youve fooled even his own mind, you have to be stopped. for the good of the world. for the good of the earth. for the hood of his god.
…so…
“why aren’t you trying to kill me yet?”
his heart both flares and breaks, hands twitching for both his cuffs and to hold you close. your voice is so rough, so cracked and tattered and filled with something similar enough to betrayal that it’s paralyzing.
he needs to arrest you.
(he needs to get you water.)
he has to bring you in so the shogun can kill you.
(he has to get you a room somewhere so you can rest. you look so tired.)
his mind is as blurred as his sight, confusion instead of tears muddling his thoughts.
what’s happening? why does his mind like (adore, want, need, worship) you so much, when he knows he has to take you in? he’s been given direct orders, he knows what he has to do, so why can’t he do it? when did he fall for such easy tricks? he’s shikanoin heizou, the most trusted detective of the tenryou commission, and he cannot be swayed by your words. he can’t afford to be.
(it’s not just your words. the air around you is so soft, so welcoming, inviting him to sit in the sand with you until it’s dawn again. he’s at ease in a way he hasn’t been in a long while, even despite the stress of the situation. he should, in reasonable circumstances, be stressed, but you’ve cleared his mind to a simple volley between two ideas: his loyalty to his god, and his newfound loyalty to you.)
he wants to tell you that he’d never want to hurt you. “i try to leave that to the higher-ups” is what he says instead.
you sign, running a shaking hand over your hair. it’s full of sand and salt and needs to be cut, badly. you take an equally unsteady breath, and when you speak you sound like you’re about to cry. “i don’t want to fight you, heizou.”
the way you say his name fills his chest with something hotter than fire and sweeter than honey, a supernova made into sugar and placed into the gap left by his heart.
the last of the sun shines off the water and outlines you in its glow, the only thought in his mind that of your beauty.
he licks his lips—they taste of salt—and forces words to come up. “i don’t want to fight you either.”
it’s the truth, and he hates that it is.
instead of saying anything else, you stand, and heizou scrambles to follow. he tells himself it’s because he needs to be ready to run after you. that’s it. that’s all. you take a step away and he is quick to match it, transfixed as you pick up a long wooden staff, akin to a walking stick. it’s taller than you are, and he’s not sure how he missed it laying beside you.
“you’ll lose your job if you don’t, detective.”
he might.
heizou blinks.
…he won’t.
no… he won’t.
facing you head on, the acceptance in your eyes is clearer, like you knew it would come to this. his hand drifts to his baton hesitantly, and sees your grip on the wood. it’s splintered, he notices, likely a piece of driftwood you found along the beach.
why is he waiting? why is he stalling?
he’s let this go on for too long already. he’s being ridiculous. this is wrong. it’s his job to take in criminals and he’s staring at one of the worst, so what is he hesitating for?
against his better judgement, he tightens his hands to fists. he’ll be gentle, he promises himself, but it doesn’t soothe the storm in his head. he‘ll be careful, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still likely to hurt you. maybe by the end of it, if he’s clever with the use of his vision, you’d barely have a bruise. did you even know how to fight properly? you don’t seem all that confident in your weapon. at least that’ll make his job easier, right?
he’s stalling again.
heizou takes a breath. against his intuition, he takes the first swing.
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soup-guts · 1 year
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letting go is hard
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yeehawpim · 4 months
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dunno if you've answered an ask similar to this or not, but what's the best place to start as an amateur comic maker?
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lol as an amateur comic maker take my advice with a grain of salt😅
here's a post I did at one point about art tips?
here's a post about my process personally
comics are super broad and there's not really a wrong way to start I don't think. id say
Look at what you like. Can be comics and it can be other media too: a lot of my inspiration is webtoons, youtube video essays, interviews with dnd actual play ppl, disney animation... ABSORB the things you're interested in and morph it into a brain soup and barf it back out lol. A lot of seeing new content for me is also just discovering what's possible. I read The Lies Of Locke Lamora and was like. WTF NOVELS CAN BE FUNNY??? Look at advice on how ppl make that type of content, try to examine why you like it, and adopt the parts you want
Don't get caught up on the things you don't want to do/have no interest in. Comics don't HAVE to be a certain way, if you're like me and don't wanna spend forever rendering an image you can draw characters that take 10sec 😂if you have only an aesthetic in mind and no story, draw smth that evokes that for you even if it takes hours to paint a horrifying guts monster.
Draw whatever tf you want and have fun. It might take you a while to figure out how you want to draw comics for it to be fun— I didn't land on this style I'm using until like, legit 4 months ago and I've been drawing for years so 👍don't be afraid to change it up whenever you feel like it
Edit: OH YEAH this is more of a side note lol don't get too disappointed if through finding what you like to do it turns out comics isn't it. I went to school for animation and I still love movement, it looks super pretty to me. But I don't have the patience most of the time, I just want to slap a story down lol
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queercoshon · 4 months
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I wrote another thing! This one has been in the works for a while. It is also posted on my deviantart. It's a little bit softer than the usual content I post. As always, please feel free to leave suggestions/ideas
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When I first moved into your spare room, I was definitely on the smaller side. Adult life had bulldozed me, and I learned quick meals and protein bars were the easiest way for me to eat. If I had to make something more complicated, chances are I would just forget to eat entirely.
You, on the other hand, loved to cook, bake, and create different cocktails. Every overindulgence in the past few years showed on your body, curves cascading down your back and flaring at your hips, and your belly often hanging over the waistband of your pants.
You quickly picked up on my food habits, and were quite frankly appalled.
"How can you not love food? Every flavour, every texture? Food is art to me. Have you had good food before?"
I shrugged, because, no, not really. My experience with food thus far had been boxed pastas, cans of soups and chilis, whatever frozen meals were on sale, and various boxed snacks. Eating them didn't bring me a fraction of the joy you got just from talking about food.
Thus began your mission of making me fall in love with at least one dish.
You really could have stopped at the first dish. The leek and potato stew blew my mind. I had never had leeks and found potatoes flavourless mush. But somehow you managed to make such mundane ingredients into a symphonious dish, tastes layering over one another. I could not get enough. The warmth spread from my stomach to encompass my body, and in my cozy bliss I just kept eating, chasing the high of this delectable experience.
I had eaten so much my stomach didn't even slosh when I painstakenly got up from the table.
Your first success spurred you into overdrive. You sought different flavour profiles and combinations, testing to see which ones would make me melt. Most of them did.
Most days I was coming home to the scent of dinner leading me down the hall, with an underlying sweetness hinting at dessert.
You tried a wide range of cuisines. Pot pies, various proteins with rice and veggies, curries from all around the world, and so many different types of pasta. Desserts include cobblers, doughnuts, pies, cakes, and a variety of pastries. I could not believe how much flavour was in everything, and was desperate to get as much of it as possible. Every meal ended with me breathing shallowly, hand caressing my overburdened gut, and you with a satisfied smirk on your face.
With your increase in cooking came your increase in eating. Slowly your body started to billow outward, filling out all your clothes, finally forcing you to look at specialty stores to restock.
My weight gain was not so slow. My body was so used to running on minimal to average calories, it didn't know what to do with the sudden influx, now having to process at least twice what I used to eat in a day.
The first place it was noticable was my gut. It only took a week or two before I had a cute little pot belly. It would push open the buttons on my shirt, and cause issues when buttoning my pants. The rest of my body followed suit. My thighs and ass started to swell, my arms felt constricted in my t-shirts, and a double chin was quickly noticable. I barely noticed. I was so caught up in a whirlwind of culinary pleasure that I paid no mind to my tightening waistbands and my gut starting to peak out of my shirt.
Soon you started cooking breakfast, too. The table would be covered in food, from pancakes to bacon, hashbrowns to quiche. Each day there was something different, and each day I gorged until nearly comatose.
Eating like this every day rapidly changed my body, I had put on 100lbs in 11 months, from the first time you made that stew. I had upgraded my wardrobe 4 times, and was needing to again soon.
And then is was December. The month of overindulgence. Holiday parties every weekend. Potlucks, cocktail parties, hearty meals, sometimes multiple events in the same day.
This was the first time I truly appreciated food; the tastes, the textures, and the stories behind each dish. I tried everything, and then I tried everything again. Most nights I struggled to waddle from the car to my bed. On the rare occasions I wasn't fit to burst, you sat me down on the couch and made me try your creations for the next party. On those nights, I was bound to pass out in the living room, eyes glazed over, gut too stuffed to think about getting up.
Despite all the socializing and gatherings, Christmas day was quiet, just the two of us. I didn't want to fly across the country to see my few relatives, and you were going to do a late holiday dinner with your family at the end of January, when work slowed down for your parents.
I received two sets of pajamas that year. One from you, plaid pants and a red flannel top. It was a little big, but we both knew that wouldn't be the case for long. The other pair I got was from a childhood friend I hadn't seen in person in over 2 years. The pants were baby blue with snowflakes, and the tank top had a cheesy graphic and the phrase "Let it Snow!"
When you went to go work on the feast planned for the day, I tried the second pair of pajamas on. Despite being incredibly stretchy, I could barely get the pants past my thighs. My ass was hanging out the back, and the drawstrings were instantly lost in the waistband. The graphic on the shirt was horrendously distorted, and I could feel a breeze on the bottom of my belly. I was about to change back into the first pair of pjs when you called me for Christmas meal. My mind now only focused on one thing, I stopped what I was doing and lumbered to the table.
You called it Christmas Meal, because it was past noon, but well before dinner time. With the amount of food you made though, we could be there well into the night. There was the traditional fixings; turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, honey roasted carrots, sweet potato casserole, and dinner rolls, but you also added a baked ziti dish, homemade pizza rolls, and cottage pie. Bottles of wine, apple cider, and sparking water lined the middle of the table. There was enough food for 10 people, and we were just 2. I could smell desserts being baked to perfection in the other room.
"This looks amazing! I've never had anything like this. I'm sorry I couldn't help..."
You patted my stomach and laughed. "The only help I need is getting it all eaten. Load up and dig in!"
I piled my plate high with everything I could fit. It would take me at least 2 plates to try everything, probably 3 with the portion sizes I was taking. I looked over, and saw your plate faced the same overburdened fate as mine.
You ladled me a generous glass of mulled wine from the crock pot.
"Cheers!"
And then we fell into a frenzied silence, only the cacophony of two gluttons enjoying a sinfully indulgent feast, and the tv still playing Christmas special reruns in the other room made noise in our tiny apartment.
I still don't know how you did it, but every bite I took had me holding back a moan.
My family had attempted to make a turkey once in my life, and it resulted in a tasteless hunk of disappointment, the bird so dried out that the white meat was somehow pointy and sharp. The one you made was opposite to everything I expected. It was nearly falling apart in my mouth, the seasoning from the brine and rub made it to every bite. Different levels of flavours washed over me, and my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head.
Every dish you made was like this. Some of them I had equally dismal expectations of, like the green beans, sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes, and pizza rolls, all things my family had made sacrilege of once. Everything else I either hadn't had, or only had store bought. Even the best store bought ziti bake didn't come close to yours.
I was put into a trance. There was not a moment where I was still, constantly chewing, swallowing, and reaching for the next bite. Everything was washed down with copious amounts of wine and cider.
My shirt was pushed up by my rounding gut, bunched up under my chest by the end of the 3rd plate, my cheeks were warm, and every gurgle my belly let out just pushed me to eat more.
Your clothes had given up containing your belly. It sat naked on full display, hanging out of your defeated shirt, pushing your thighs apart as it sank further. You were absent-mindedly rubbing the crest of your gut as you shoved another role in your mouth. I poured the last of the 2nd bottle of wine in your glass, and popped open the 3rd to serve myself.
It wasn't until just after starting my 7th plate that I realised how overstuffed I was. It all hit me at once, the bottom of my belly itching as my skin stretched around my stomach swelling forward, my breathe shallow and pained, my lungs given no room to expand, pushing out a burp with every other gasp of air. I couldn't lean back without getting a stitch.
You were in a similar state. Hiccups jolting your body shaking out burps, your hands gingerly massaging your gut which was red and almost shiny.
I don't know how long we sat there, just rubbing our guts and moaning. There was still food left, but maybe enough for 1 averaged-sized meal for both of us. Everything else was crammed into our bellies.
Firmly drunk now, the sensation of rubbing my belly was sending sparks along all my nerves. Between that and riding the high of the first Christmas meal I had ever enjoyed, I was lost in my own little world of bliss.
A harsh timer bell going off in the kitchen jolted me out of my stupor, unleashing a string of burps and a new bout of hiccups. You groaned as you got up, supporting your back and belly like you were 9 months pregnant.
You looked at me with a wine-soaked grin.
"Ready for dessert?"
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lussiane333 · 11 months
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Slashers or their S/O with a cavity or a toothache. Like how would they help/deal with it? (I’m getting my wisdom teeth out later this week and I’m hoping for some comfort/fluff from the slashers)
I hope everything will go well for you 🖤
Slashers and toothache.
RZ! Michael Myers
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I mean let's be real. Considering he ate a dog and from a trash, we know his teeth cannot be perfectly healthy.
But! After you took him under your wing his hygiene has upgraded! (thank god)
Michael has a big (if not otherworldly) pain tolerance
However...
Toothache is just damn annoying and the pain goes straight into his head
He hates it..
He would brush it aggressively thinking it's going to help
If it did, perfect.
Now if it didn't...
You wouldn't know about it at first
If he's that comfortable around you to not wear a mask you're going to see him frowning, moving his tongue a lot
When you ask him what's wrong he's just going to ignore you, don't even try
You noticed your bathroom cabinet with pills a little.. messy.. like a lot, nothing is in it's place
Now you know that something is bothering him and decide to take care of it yourself. He's going to be such a bitch about it, what are you thinking touching his face like that? He doesn't need your help, it's going to go away on it's own!
But Michael wants your care, just don't be so obvious about it.. He wants it especially when falling asleep, he won't sleep without your touch and warmness
You made him soft food, fruit and vegetable smoothies for the rest of the week, along with some pills and.. tada! It really did go away on it's own somehow
He's thankful, Michael didn't even think about the possibilities if it didn't go away, maybe like getting used to it..
Art the Clown
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Insists on ripping it out for you.
Why not?! It's going to be free and he's gonna have so much fun!
He just kinda looks at you when you're cursing in pain
He doesn't remember hurting it that much, come on you must be overreacting..
He wonders what would hurt you more, this toothache or stabbing you right into the guts
When you cuddle him he will rock you in his arms and place his warm palm on your cheek
Art will try to make you laugh in everyway, he knows he can't tickle you now, that would make it worse (He really really wants to tickle you..)
So, Art is going to dance, make funny faces or just grin at you just to make you feel better
He will make you herbal tea with some painkilling drops
Please just don't cry anymore, he feels like he's unable to help
He suggest you taking that removed tooth back with you so he can make a necklace or a lucky charm for himself!
Art will welcome you with a warm soup when you come back home
If you bring him the tooth, his crazy little heart is beating with happiness, and his eyes have that significant sparkle in them
Carefully kisses your cheeks and caresses them
If you want to sleep for the rest of the day, that's fine, he will try to make you stay at home with him for the rest of the week, what if it's going to hurt again??
He enjoys this time with you when you're extra sensitive about something, it makes him feel somehow more important
Jason Voorhees
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He just wants to hold you, would that make you feel better?
Jason is going to do anything he can just to ease your pain, at least a little
He doesn't really know how tho, he has no pills you could take
Later on, you decided to visit a dentist and get your tooth removed
Poor you.. What have they done to you..
Jason doesn't leave the cabin, even if you insist it's fine, no it isn't, he's staying with you
He knows and sees that you're better after few days, he's so glad
He kinda wonders how it felt when they removed your tooth, I mean he has never done that.. Did it hurt a lot? You're brave for that..
If it's nice and warm outside, he would like to take you out for a walk around the lake if you'd like
He would collect some flowers for you, and give you a masked kiss on your cheek
Lots.of.kisses.
Please tell him how they removed your tooth, what and how they did it, he wants to know
Jason hopes that no one will try to ruin your day together, he can go to kill mode within a second, but he even thought about letting them get away if they appeared all of sudden
He would, for you, he doesn't want to leave your side
When it got a little darker you were already walking back, Jason held you closely next to him
Fortunately, no one tresspassed and you had a great day, it really felt good to go out like this
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kurtenshi · 2 years
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DEMON OR HUMAN, I WOULD HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH YOU — RENGOKU KYOJURO X DEMON WIFE!READER (3.4k)
→ Angst | Warnings; MUGEN TRAIN SPOILERS! canon typical violence, character death | A/N: For @oyasumimosura, thank you for your patience, I hope you like it!
↳ You are Kyojuro's wife, but also a demon who's pregnant with his baby. He ignores it all until his mission regarding the Mugen train comes.
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You first fell for Rengoku Kyojuro years ago, when he was once patrolling in the dead of night, basked in the moonlight. Even so, he succeeded in mesmerizing you; his orange hair resembled flames with its red tips, and his eyes were burning with such a sharp gaze that one look of his could light up a soul or burn another. You deemed him strong, brave, and purely noble.
Still, we often say love is blind.
You discerned a katana and slowly recognized the demon slayer corps uniform, which made you realize you had just fallen in love with the one who was supposed to kill you.
Because indeed, you were a demon. And until now, humans and demons haven't been able to co-exist. 
So why in the world would your heart choose a human who was a demon slayer on top of that?
You found the answer to your question years later when he asked you to marry him; truth was, he brought you happiness. You could never possibly deny that. 
Now that you were peacefully in his arms, you could only relish the memories you shared with him while his warmth gradually spread in your cold body. As he held you close to him, he kissed your forehead, reassuring you about his upcoming mission. When you asked if he was confident of his return, he promised he was since he had vowed to protect you with his life.
Thus, if he died, he couldn't keep that vow, and Kyojuro was a man of honor. Therefore, Kyojuro would always come back to you, or at least that’s what he’d say. Having lost an important figure of his life already—his mother—he could only wish that your life, his beloved wife's, wouldn't be endangered. 
Each time he was sent out on patrols, missions, or long investigation periods, he would tell you over and over again how much he loved you, how he wanted you back at his estate before sunset at all costs, and how he'd always come back.
Yet this time, a weird sensation had settled in your gut after Kyojuro announced to the entire Rengoku household that he was leaving for a mission where an upper moon could be involved. Of course, after that statement, you and Senjuro were feeling quite uneasy. 
You weren't doubting his abilities or his strength; simply, this time, something kept on telling you, “Don't let him take that train.” Loving and being with a demon slayer surely wasn't easy considering their dangerous missions, and especially for you who held such a deep secret from your husband, it was even fuller of risks. The only reason why he hadn't figured out you were a demon yet was because you could resist sunlight, surprisingly. To everyone and even Muzan himself, no demon had survived the sun so far; you were, however, the exception to that.
Additionally, you didn't consume human flesh to survive. You ate alongside humans and appreciated their food. You had even ended up loving Kyojuro's favorite meal—sweet potatoes in miso soup—thanks to his cooking. It was shocking how well you blended with your human surroundings, still, that was what had allowed you to gain such a wonderful husband as Kyojuro.
So there you were, embracing your said husband before he left. Something you hadn't told him, however, was that you would secretly follow him; when you hadn't yet met your husband, you had tested your abilities as a demon and developed some of them. Over time, you had become quite the expert in stealth; parallelly, your blood demon art was powerful. It allowed you to transform your lower body into a snake's while your upper part would remain normal, simply stronger. 
You just hoped your gut feeling was a coincidence and that you wouldn't have to reveal your demon side to your husband, the future father of your child.
That was another information Kyojuro knew nothing about; you were pregnant with his baby. You never thought it would work between a human and a demon biologically speaking, but there you were.
Thus, you followed your husband, hiding in the darkness the night provided you. The shadows allowed you to move quickly without going noticed by anyone, not even to your dearest Kyojuro. It somehow reminded you of the night when you first saw and fell in love with him; he was walking, fulfilling his duties as a hashira while you admired him from afar in the obscurity.
And each time, whether it was years ago or now, you could only tell yourself, “He is ethereal, if not gorgeous.”
Once he had arrived at the ticket booth of the station, however, things started to get more difficult. Due to the lamps that lightened up the entire station and the presence of many civilians, you couldn't hide properly anymore. Still, you refused to give up now; if you couldn't even manage to go through this, how would you protect him if anything was to occur? You doubled up your efforts and subtly changed some characteristics of your face, consequently becoming a total stranger to anyone who possibly knew you.
After buying your ticket to board the infamous Mugen train, you perceived three teenagers; a blonde one who wore a haori ornated with a pattern based on yellow triangles which went with the demon slayer corps uniform, another one whose hair was crimson red with a checked black and green haori that accompanied his uniform, and the last slayer was deprived of his upper uniform, showing off his muscles but not his face, wearing a boar mask instead of revealing his true self. You assumed they had been assigned to assist your husband during this mission and made your way to the entrance of one of the cars before entering it.
So far, the train ride was peaceful and you didn't sense any demonic aura; and as much as you knew, Kyojuro hadn't either. It seemed he had been focusing on eating a bento while shouting “Umai!” quite enthusiastically. Nonetheless, the lights suddenly began to falter and for a mere second, your body tensed. You then knew a demon was on board right at your side and you knew you wouldn't have to wait long before it'd make its first move. Indeed, you were correct, and barely minutes later, the train trembled roughly while each passenger fell asleep by the second.
At the observation, you stood up from your seat and walked toward your husband slowly and quietly. When you arrived, you were greeted with quite an odd view; the three slayers you had seen on the train platform were tied with different civilians and the same had ensued to your husband.
Surely this couldn't be part of the mission for many reasons; one, why would they be sleeping on duty, two, why were they tied to unknown civilians, and three, why did everyone fall asleep out of nowhere? Why were you the only one who hadn't succumbed to slumber?
You quickly came to realize you weren't alone; a wooden box opened itself, revealing a young, petite girl who had a bamboo stick in her mouth. You took two steps back when her demonic aura overcame you; in your pregnant state, you refused to take any risks that could endanger your child. Yet, she only gazed at you and turned to the young red-haired slayer. At first, you thought she was planning on eating the boy, but seeing her restraint you told yourself you'd just watch for now to see what this little demon was up to.
She made muffled noises as she tried waking him up, and you watched her furrow her brows before head-butting her forehead against the slayer's. “Hey! What are you doing?” you said, taking steps closer to her. She looked at you with teary eyes while blood dripped down her face and to your biggest surprise, the boy she had just head-butted was lit on fire.
Yet, what only amplified your shock was how he kept sleeping and how solely the rope that tied him to a civilian burned. You widened your eyes in disbelief and decided to wake up your husband. Even if he might recognize you, he was in danger. “Kyojuro, can you hear me?” you said, slightly shaking his shoulders. No response, which was unusual considering he was a light-sleeper. “Kyojuro?” you repeated, his silence only feeding the anxiety of your disturbing gut feeling that had settled since that morning.
You heard a loud gasp at your side coming from the red-haired slayer that had just woken up and observed him breathe in deeply before his eyes met yours. “Who are you?” he asked, eyes softening when he saw the demon. “I'm y/n Rengoku, Kyojuro's wife. Who may you and this demon be?” you said, gaze shifting from him to her. “My name is Kamado Tanjiro, I'm a demon slayer. Here is Kamado Nezuko, my little sister who got turned into a demon. But please rest assured, she hasn't eaten anyone and won't ever. She's harmless to humans,” he answered.
“Sure, but what happened here Kamado-san? Why is everyone asleep?” you questioned, eyeing the rest of the wagon. Tanjiro explained how he had fallen into a euphoric dream after getting his ticket checked by an employee, “How come haven't you fallen asleep?” he said as he tried waking up his companions. “I—” you started, “I'm not quite sure.”
Before you could add anything else, the train trembled once more and a demon emerged out of nowhere, aiming to kill Tanjiro. You shifted in your demon form and beheaded it with your sharpened snake tail, putting your true self now on full display. Right after, you took in Tanjiro's dumbfounded expression, and remorse overcame you knowing one day, you'd see the same incredulity on Kyojuro's face.
Except you didn't expect to see it so soon.
“Kamado-shonen!” a loud voice exclaimed, making your heart drop. “Wait Rengoku-san—” Tanjiro tried to explain before being pushed aside by the flame hashira who was directing his blow at you. Since your back was facing him, he was ignoring what he was doing; he would have never attacked you in other circumstances, he had vowed to protect you.
You dodged his attack and faced him, guilt written all over your face as you watched his eyes widen considerably. “Y/n—is it you?” he said, not knowing how to react. Your appearence left him speechless; had he, a hashira, fallen for a lie? For an illusion? Most importantly, had he fallen in love with a demon? He couldn’t believe it, he could only stay in a state of denial. 
“It is me…” you whispered, loud enough so he could hear. “I’m sorry—” you started, only to be interrupted by two demons attacking simultaneously. One of them kicked you out of the train with quite a rough hit as you tried your best to protect your stomach. “Seriously?” you spat out, cutting the creature into pieces before chasing after the train.
Meanwhile, Kyojuro slew the sort of weird entity that engulfed the train and focused on keeping the passengers safe, even if he couldn’t help but think about you and every moment he had spent with you.
Nevertheless, the quartet of slayers successfully stopped the demon who tried to merge with the passengers on board; however, the train was now off-track and even if you hadn’t yet reached it, you could sense from miles away the overwhelming aura of an overpowered demon coming closer to your husband. You could easily tell by its strength it was a member of the twelve kizuki, and your judgment leaned towards an upper moon.
Tanjiro and Rengoku smiled at each other as they saw Enmu—the train demon—disintegrate, happily noticing that each passenger was safe and sound.
Not so fortunately for them, a loud thud reverberated, revealing the third upper moon. He was a pink-haired demon whose eyes were shining like gold, and he had made his entrance by planting his fist in the ground, wearing a grin that didn’t announce anything good. His gaze lingered on the flame hashira before aiming to hit Tanjiro right in the head so he wouldn’t be a “disturbance” for the chat the upper moon wished to have with the hashira.
“You and I have very different definitions of values then,” Kyojuro said, firmly holding his katana in both hands. “It seems like it since I can’t stand the weak; it makes me want to puke,” the demon—apparently named Akaza—replied, a huge smirk growing onto his face as he succeeded in provoking him. 
The two opponents started a perilous fight where one of them would certainly lose and thus die, except none knew the outcome yet. Regardless, it didn’t stop Rengoku from thinking about you throughout the duel; what if he wasn’t able to make it home? How would you live on? Who would take care of you as he used to? Who would love you like him?
No one would.
So he had to come back to you, right?
Well, his hopes quickly got shattered when he lost an eye thanks to Akaza’s fist.
“Oh?” Akaza said, eyes deeply focused on Kyojuro’s burning strength. “You really should become a demon, Kyojuro!” he continued as excitement sparkled in his eyes, wanting to make the fight everlasting; however, that is when you arrived, slashing off Akaza’s arms who grew back in a mere matter of seconds.
“A female demon huh? How haven’t I noticed your aura?” the demon quirked a brow, looking you up and down to analyze your characteristics. “I’m stronger than what you think,” you said, taking notice of your husband’s injuries; “But you’re going to pay for what you did to him.”
“It’s useless. I do not fight women.”
“Kyojuro, please tend to your wounds meanwhile,” you inquired, eyes unwillingly drifting away from him, your beloved husband, only to set on Akaza.
“Who said I was going to give you a choice?”
With that, you aimed to slice his arms and legs at once, which failed; Akaza effortlessly adapted to your speed, yet, he still refused to send even a single blow in your direction.
Weirdly enough, when his eyes landed on your stomach, they widened, and for a brief second, you thought you’d seen fear in them. Fear for what though? Fear, of hurting the baby, when he almost killed its father? It was unbelievable to you. But wait, 
How could he have seen the baby through your skin?
“See, Kyojuro, one more reason to become a demon is to stay with your wife. Think about this; you can have your happily ever after ending with your wife, and you could even fight me once in a while! I’d be your fighting buddy,” he said, wearing a demonic smile. “It’ll be nice for your kid too,” he mumbled, loud enough for you to hear, but not to Kyojuro. “He doesn’t know, does he?” he asked you, eyeing your husband’s crouched figure. “What don’t I know?” the hashira asked as he regained his fighting posture, wounds long forgotten. “You’ll soon find out,” Akaza chuckled, sending a harsh blow in Kyojuro’s direction. “Fuck—” you jumped, avoiding his attack to save yourself.
However, what you hadn’t noticed was another blow coming your way—you were too focused on how your husband handled Akaza’s attacks to notice. “Hey woman, get out of the way!” the boar masked shouted, pushing you by the stomach to save you. He gasped loudly as he exclaimed, “Why is there another heartbeat in your stomach?”
“What are you saying Inosuke shonen, she can’t possibly be pregnant!”
Akaza’s grin widened, “But what if she was?”
“She would have told me!”
“She still kept things hidden from you though, so let me give you a break to confront her.”
“What guarantees you won’t attempt to kill me while I do?”
“Nothing does, but take that chance before it’s too late.”
Akaza was many things, but he proved himself as trustworthy—somehow.
“Y/n, is it true?”
“...it is. I wanted to surprise you with the news, but I never found the right time to, and then, you had to leave for this mission.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I thought I could do like human wives who surprise their husband with pregnancy news.”
“No, not that; why would you risk your life when you're pregnant?”
“I wanted to protect you like you protect me since I’m capable of it. Plus, I can regenerate easily.”
“Ah, love. Such a naive thing,” Akaza interrupted. “You guys have had your fair time of confessions; now, let’s finish what we were up to, Kyojuro.”
“My love, please don’t interfere. I don’t want you to get hurt.” he so endearingly smiled at you, taking hold of his powerful stance once more to end it all.
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The two fighters kept up their duel until smoke covered them both, gradually revealing your husband, whose abdomen was pierced by Akaza’s forearm. At that, your heart dropped for the umptieth time of the day, but harder than any of the previous times.
Kyojuro wasn’t like you; he couldn’t regenerate.
And you couldn’t—didn’t—save him.
Slowly, the sun started to invade the sky. It should have burned you, considering you were a demon, but the pain you felt right now was much worse—and incomparable.
In the blink of an eye, Akaza made his way to the remaining darkness while Tanjiro yelled at him; meanwhile, panic and fear decided to accompany you in the steps you took to your husband, now back to your human form.
“Kyojuro, isn’t there any way to treat you? Can’t Shinobu fix this?”
“No love, I'll be gone soon. Still, I prefer this rather than having you or the baby injured.”
“Please, I can’t afford to lose you.”
The curiosity you had taken in him when you first saw him had turned into a liking that shaped itself into love, which now threatened to become a burning passion on the verge of his death.
“You'll be okay love. I'm sorry to have to leave you on your own, but I'm sure you will be okay and that our child will be an impressive person. I would've given up everything just to live with you and our child for the rest of my life, however, I'm guessing, unfortunately, that it won't be possible. I forgive you for hiding the truth from me, because either way, demon or human, I would've fallen in love with you. Don't be sad about me, death is a part of human life's beauty. Please, y/n, please take care of yourself, and know that I will always be watching over you and our child. I sincerely wish you to live a happy life, and raise our child well. I must also thank you for being so endearing, reassuring, supportive, and caring; but most importantly, I apologize for not being able to keep my promise, which was coming back home, coming back to you. I really couldn't be more grateful for having met you, so take care of yourself and our dear child. Set your heart ablaze and don't ever make the flame inside you go away, I love you more than anything y/n.”
He smiled exactly like when he first met you—the kind of breath-taking smile you wouldn’t see anymore. You tried your best to take in his pretty features one last time, engraving his smile in your mind before murmuring, “How will I live without you?” and “I love you.”
Because Kyojuro Rengoku is the sole you have loved so passionately in your life, and he is the only one who has cherished—adored—you so lovingly. Next time you’ll see him, in endlessly long years, perhaps you could love one another again, cleared of any secrets and questions as you look after your child from the skies.
Thus, you vowed to revenge him to deliver Kyojuro the rest he deserves; since your fury is unduly bitter, you’re sure as hell Akaza doesn’t want to taste it, but you’ll make sure he does no matter what.
You will never let go of the grudge you hold against him, not when he’s taken your dearest husband away from you.
One day or another, you’ll come back for his life; if you fail, your child, Kyojuro’s, will.
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